


The Moscow Rules

by stevebuckysteve



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AKA Bucky and his friends are prankster shitheads, Boarding School AU, Boxer Bucky, Bucky Barnes is sad and wears braids every day, F/F, F/M, Featuring Steve and his big ass heart, Howard Stark is a world class douche bag and an abusive father, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Steve is hopelessly in love with Bucky Barnes, Underage Drinking, spy AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-02-06 20:32:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12825501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevebuckysteve/pseuds/stevebuckysteve
Summary: Bucky Barnes walks through the cafeteria doors each morning with his shoulder-length silky hair in a different braid every day. Steve assumes this is for some sort of theoretical combat efficiency, of course, but nonetheless, staring at the back of Bucky’s head and mentally untangling the intricate knots is the most beautiful part of Steve’s day.Alternatively: a boarding school au/ “spy” au/pranksters au where Bucky and others are spy prankster besties who have been through some shit, and Steve is the outsider who adores them (and is a little in love with Bucky)





	1. DON'T TALK, THE ENEMY HAS EARS EVERYWHERE

**Author's Note:**

> [tumblr](http://bumblebuck.tumblr.com/)

There’s a small, tight knit group of boys that Steve Rogers has never talked much to. They sit on the far left side of the cafeteria, where nobody can see them. They talk in incomprehensible whispers, keeping in mind always Spy Rule Number One: _DON’T TALK, THE ENEMY HAS EARS EVERYWHERE._

The boy that fascinates Steve the most, though, the one that draws him in, is the boy with the braids.

Bucky Barnes walks through the cafeteria doors each morning with his shoulder length silky hair in a different braid every day. Steve assumes this is for some sort of theoretical combat efficiency, of course, but nonetheless, staring at the back of Bucky’s head and mentally untangling the intricate knots is the most beautiful part of Steve’s day.

Today Bucky’s hair is in two elegant braids at the back of his head, splitting off into two ponytails at the base of his neck. Steve knows that the boys know that Steve stares. Of course they do, they notice everything. He thinks it must be a Spy Rule— to be observant— but he isn't sure because he hasn't seen Clint, one of the boys, scribble it in his notebook labeled **THIS IS NOT A BOOK CONTAINING VERY IMPORTANT, TOP SECRET SPY RULES**. Steve thinks that's funny, as one of the rules he's seen Clint scribble happens to be _DON'T IMAGINE THAT PRIVATE DIARIES OR NOTEBOOKS WILL KEEP SECRETS_ and, another, _DON'T LEAVE WRITTEN SCRAPS OF PAPER ABOUT. BURN THEM. THEY MIGHT TELL TALES._ There's also, probably, a rule about recording information in a way to ensure that people can't read over your shoulder, but he can't think of an intelligent, intimidating spy-way to phrase that. Maybe he'll get the wording and confidence, one day, to suggest that to Clint.

Steve knows a lot about the group of boys, and yet he knows very little. He knows just enough to keep him interested and wanting to know more, he decides. Not too much and not too little.

He knows exactly which group of seniors routinely concoct Madison Academy’s infamous pranks, however anonymous said group wishes to remain. He knows exactly who released a hoard of ladybugs in the science wing during final exams last year, just as he knows who rigged the teacher’s lounge to play “Walking on Sunshine” for four days straight in February. He knows exactly why a certain group of teenagers busy themselves with espionage related behavior. Steve Rogers would never tell you who, though.

He knows, for example, that Bucky has a peculiar talent for linguistics, given his parents moving around so frequently. He knows that Bucky’s dad, as neglecting as he may be, taught Bucky how to box when he was younger, and is the reason why Bucky spends so much of his time at the gym down the block racking up money every weekend at local matches. Steve’s never seen one of Bucky’s fights, he knows that boxing is a private thing, unshared with even his closest friends.

Steve only knows this because his freshman year, when he was smaller, he got caught in a back alley fight with some know-nothing seniors from Tarson Prep for reasons he can’t recall, and though Steve started it, he was definitely not going to end it. Steve doesn’t remember much, probably because of the concussion, but he recalls faintly Bucky saving his ass and walking with him to the school nurse, who took one look at him and decided Steve’s condition was much too severe for her, and sent him to the hospital, where he thinks— he doesn’t know exactly— but he thinks Bucky waited in the waiting room until a nurse told him Steve had a minor concussion and would have to stay the night, but that he would be okay.

He knows Clint teaches archery lessons to children aged five to eleven at the Country Club to send money to his kid brother back in Iowa. He knows the most about Clint because he's not the best spy. Or maybe he's the best spy, purposely revealing to Steve inaccurate information. You can never be too sure. Either way, Steve admires Clint. Clint doesn't know this, but Steve once picked up a stack of Clint's business cards to post on community bulletin boards around campus.

There's also Tony. Tony's dad created Stark Naked, a prank show that makes a ton of money. When Steve's own dad was in the picture, when they had money, he and Tony were neighbors. A couple nights every month, Steve could hear Mr. Stark's yells and crashes from next door, and Mrs. Rogers’ would make the guest bed up for Tony to sleep in. Strangely enough though, they never talked much. Maybe when someone knows something so personal about you, something you have trouble accepting, it makes it hard to be friends with that person. Steve understands.

When Steve moved into the dorms his freshman year and Tony decided to commute from his home, Steve made sure to text Tony his mother’s new address, and to make sure Tony knew he was always welcome there, though it was smaller than their last house, if he ever needed it. Tony never answered.

He doesn’t know much about Bruce, except that he has a knack for science. He’s been stacking up science fair trophies since the first grade. Except, in sixth grade, Bruce lost because his father was in the hospital. Bruce was understandably distracted, but still made an effort. His project, Steve remembers, was an idea. It was an admittedly silly proposal to a cure for Lymphoma. There wasn’t much on his poster board except a few equations and printed articles, but Steve admired his dedication regardless.

Every time Steve catches himself staring at Bruce, he thinks about how they ran into each other at the hospital a few days before his father’s passing. Bruce was crying, but he wiped his tears to say hello to Steve. He asked, politely, what Steve was doing at the hospital so late, and Steve lied and said that the flowers in his hand were for his Grandma Marleen who had fallen earlier in the week. He wonders if Bruce ever noticed that the lilies ended up outside his father’s door.

Thor lives down the hall from Steve. He's a very friendly, tall senior who always offers Steve rides to work, though Steve always gratefully declines. He doesn't know much about Thor, either, except that he’s pretty homesick. Steve sees him drop letters off in the outgoing mailbox at the foyer of their dormitory, and because of the thin walls and Thor’s naturally booming voice, Steve often overhears Thor on the phone with his brother. 

Just to help out, Steve thought about making Thor some traditional homemade meals from wherever his family lives, but he soon realized that he has no idea where Thor's originally from. For now, Steve has started sketching out these funny little comics and slipping them under Thor’s door, just as a temporary pick-me-up.

Like himself, Thor’s one of the few every year to stay on Campus for Winter break. Sarah Rogers works much too hard and much too often for Steve to spend more than a few hours between her shifts for him to come home for break, and, anyway, lounging around makes him feel bothersome.

Steve thought about Natasha, too, though she did not participate in any sort of spy business. Natasha’s a lovely, intelligent girl, though Steve finds himself a little intimidated by her at times. He thinks, if she were a spy, she’d be the best one. She could be, he realizes, she’s just so good nobody knows. You can never be too sure with these things. 

Steve has a few classes with Natasha’s girlfriend, a bright, witty junior named Indy. Their relationship is the most real, genuine love he’s ever seen, and it never fails to startle him every time he sees it.

There are a few boys in Steve’s physics class that often partake in inappropriate and disrespectful discussions about Natasha and Indy’s relationship, and Steve never, ever goes a day without calling them ignorant fuck faces with no ambition and writing an email - Steve’s trying to avoid fighting, given he’s no good and can’t afford another concussion - to the good-for-nothing counselors at the school, no matter how much Nat and Indy pretend the comments don’t bother them.

He knows more than the average person, maybe, and he’s invested more than the average person would be, too. He knows these things, these things that most people don’t care to see because they think it’s odd and childish that high schoolers pretend they’re spies so wholeheartedly just to pull some pranks, but Steve knows that they’ve been spies since the first grade. It’s what brought them together, and it’s what keeps them going, as none of them carry particularly easy lives or relenting pasts. Sometimes, Steve thinks, a little childishness is exactly what some people need, and there’s no shame in it.


	2. Steve’s moral compass is as solid as his hard on is for Bucky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky finally turned away, doodling in his journal, mentally busying himself with his usual ‘you’re straight, you’re straight, you’re fucking straight, you hear me?’ mantra.

Bucky has a nervous tic. He doesn’t know how or even when it first developed, but he has a nervous tic. Other people noticed before he did.

“Dude, if you don’t stop tapping your foot I am going to have to take serious action.”

“What are you complaining about, Barton? You can turn it off,” Tony gestured toward Clint’s hearing aids, nearly hidden by his on-the-long-side blond hair. “We, however, must remain in eternal agony.”

Bucky’s foot stopped tapping. 

“What’s got you all tappy, Barnes?” Bruce is the more inquisitive of the bunch.

Bucky did not say all the things that had him feeling tappy. He did not say how he worried for his older sister, for his school work, for his emotional and even physical wellbeing. He did not say that the bruise above his left hip gave him hell every time walked, moved, and/or breathed. He did not say how painful it was to pretend minor inconveniences like the feeling of constant abandonment didn’t bother him. He didn’t say any of this.

Instead he said, “Physics.”

The five of them groaned in both understanding and agreement. 

Bucky thought absently while his best friends quietly discussed potential, relatively harmless pranks they could organize on their physics teacher, Mr. Retherford. He thought about his parents, and wondered where in the world they were this week. Not Cuba, they had been there three weeks ago, when he last spoke to them. Not France either, he knew that was planned during his spring break. Perhaps Spain or even Germany.

Bucky’s family is filthy wealthy. Not Stark wealthy quite yet, but on the wealth scale, his family was probably somewhere between Thor and Tony. Not that he cared. He didn’t get any of his parents money anyway. His parents used to be surgeons, his mother practicing general and his father trauma. They had always found time to travel, even in their profession, but since their retirement four and a half years ago, Bucky rarely hears from them besides the occasional keychain he receives in the mail and the once in a blue moon phone call.

Bucky sometimes minds.

He thought about his friends. About his roommate, Sam Wilson. Sam is similar to Bucky in the way that he laughs offen and smiles frequently and outwardly seems easy going, but different from Bucky in the way that Sam Wilson has Ambitions with a capital ‘A.’ He is a very studious person, that kid. He probably has a 5.0 GPA and understands what the hell is going on in physics, but Bucky never sees him crack open a goddamn book. 

He thought about himself, and this new braid he was trying to learn. Natasha had been the one to teach him how to do his hair. They went to the seventh grade Valentines Day dance together, and Nat had proclaimed that Bucky’s hair, although nice, was extremely unkempt, and sat him in a chair for roughly fifteen seconds and wahlah: Bucky Barnes and the French braid became one.

He has since grown as his own self-proclaimed hair stylist. He even tossed out his Men’s Two in One Shampoo/Conditioner Combo and now uses the Good Shit™. His favorite braid is a double Dutch, slightly ‘pancaked’ for extra oomph. To be quite frank with you, Bucky Barnes looks like he is going to be the baddest bitch at prom every day of his life.

He hadn’t realized how long he’d been thinking about everything and nothing all at once until Thor gently yanked on one of his fishtail braids: “Your admirer is back at it again!”

“The phrase ‘back at it’ would imply a cessation of admiration,” Tony found a lot of amusement in this whole thing.

Bucky turned his head and made eye contact with none other than Steve Rogers, who blushed and looked away approximately .3 seconds later.

Steve is big. Steve is bigger than Bucky, and Bucky works out almost seven times a week every week since the eighth grade. Steve used to be worryingly thin, and even though Bucky had classes with him in middle school, he was hardly ever there because he was on his deathbed. He’s got this pretty blond hair, darker than Clint’s but lighter than his own. He always has a sketchbook, a graphite pencil, and a smile as long as the Brooklyn Bridge on him.

Bucky knows how Steve feels about him, he’s not always balls deep in his own thoughts. Steve’s cute crush is one of the only constant things in Bucky’s life - always just around the corner, blushing and stumbling around his words and smiling and being so fucking nice that it makes Bucky feel like shit because Bucky’s a stone cold bitch. He has a badass spy reputation to keep up.

The thing is, Steve has a heart of gold. He’s in all seriousness the nicest, kindest human being Bucky has ever met. His moral compass is as solid as his hard on for Bucky.

And Steve does things. Things normal people wouldn’t waste their time doing. It’s like the whole world has been contaminated with some kind of toxic gas that causes people to be self-indulgent, cynical, indifferent bitches, and everyone except goddamn Steve Rogers was sick with it. 

Steve is cute, but Bucky is straight. He isn’t going to pretend he doesn't think about him sometimes. Only sometimes. When he isn’t thinking about the bitter resentment he feels for his parents.

He watched as Natasha Romanov and her girlfriend Indy Thurbanks walked towards Steve’s table. Natasha pulled out her girlfriend’s chair while simultaneously ruffling Steve’s hair and giggling at his bright red cheeks. Steve put his giant hands on his forehead and leaned his elbows on the table, obviously embarrassed and sensing Bucky still looking at him.

Nat and Bucky were as tight as… tight things are, back in the day. Nat, with her flaming red hair and pink lips and smile that says “you don’t know a thing” and all that mystical Russian bullshit. Bucky would still consider them close friends; they share a few classes together and pretend to care about how each others live are going, but ultimately people grow apart and there’s not much you can do about that. God wills it or whatever. Bucky misses her. He knows it’s not like the world would end if he said “Hey, Nat. I really miss you. Please save me from the constraints of male friendship, I’m drowning in testosterone” but confrontation is something Bucky Barnes is not particularly smitten with.

“Ah, right on time, here comes Confusion,” said Clint, eyes grinning at Confusion, who was paying for his food in the cafeteria line.

Confusion is what they call Steve’s best friend, Embry Isaiah. Because he confuses them. His relationship with Steve confuses them, namely.

Bucky, Clint, Tony, Thor, and Bruce were silent as they watched with eyes full of respect and awe as Embry strutted across the cafeteria towards Steve’s table, to then slide gracefully in the seat next to his best friend, giving Steve a light hello-kiss on the cheek before plopping a grape in his mouth.

Bucky finally turned away, doodling in his journal, mentally busying himself with his usual ‘you’re straight, you’re straight, you’re fucking straight, you hear me?’ mantra.

———

“Steve, man, you’re definitely staring right now, and I’m telling you this because I’m your friend, but it’s definitely weird, and he definitely knows you’re in love with him because you are pathetic,” whispered Embry Isaiah, Steve’s closest, albeit obnoxious, friend.

“How do they talk without moving their mouths… Why though? Secrecy, maybe... But how long did it take to–”

“Natasha, oh my god. He’s talking to himself! It’s gone. His brain has finally rotted!”

Embry Isaiah is a lot of things, but he is not discreet. The elbow to Steve’s rib and the excessively loud whisper thrown towards his left ear turned a few heads their way, only a table behind Bucky, Tony, Thor, Clint, and Bruce, a table notorious for their vigilance, secrecy, and— quite literally in Steve’s peculiar case— breathtaking pranks.

Broken at last from his Bucky Barnes induced trance, Steve kicked Embry under the table.

“Not my fault you can’t control your sickening, gooey adoration for the guy,” Embry chuckled. “You know me, just tryna help out where my help is so desperately needed.”

Embry is without a doubt the strangest boy Steve Rogers has ever met, but he’s also the most wonderfully enchanting person Steve’s ever met, too. Everything about Embry Isaiah screams ‘wondrous,’ from the illegal animal sanctuary he operates in their dorm room (with animals he names “Dumpster Dive,” “Bar Fight,” “Homewrecker” and the like), the variously colored lipsticks he sports on the daily, the strange tattoos scattered about his body (including a cactus in a space helmet with the words ‘live dangerously’ written in comic sans on the back of his right hand), his sickening obsession he has with... Where was Steve going with this, again?

When they first met at orientation their freshman year, Steve itched to fill his sketchbooks with him in an attempt to capture his endlessly captivating beauty. Steve is a cornball.

Steve and Embry lived in a state of mutual pining up until the end of their sophomore year, when they tried dating for a few weeks. The pair of them soon came to a consensus that they were better off as best friends, for the love of all things holy (although it should be mentioned that on the occasional shitty day, they’ll indulge themselves with a little— strictly platonic— tom foolery. Steve and Embry were best friends with benefits. So what?)

“If I didn’t know you so well, Em, I would call you a crazy ex looking to sabotage any chance I have at a future relationship,” Steve laughed.

“I hate to say this, but the way you’re going, buddy, you don’t have much of a chance for a future relationship,” Natasha chuckled. “Nobody likes staring, Rogers.”

“Okay, but hear me out on this one-”

“Trust me, we know how you feel about his hair, Stevie. We know how often you dream about shampooing it. And brushing it,” said Indy.  
“Don’t forget about all the tutorials he watches on braids,” offered Nat.

With a sigh, Embry abruptly rose from his chair, plucked his lunch tray from the table, and began to stride away from the group of them before decidedly turning back and declaring, loudly, “Wow! Would you look at the time? Do any of you have the time? Anyone?”

He strode toward the table in front of them (Steve admired how well Embry walked in the red six inch heels he wore today) tapped none other than Bucky Barnes himself on the shoulder, and asked, “Hi there— love the braids— do you happen to know the time?”

To which Bucky pointedly looked at the watch sat on Embry’s wrist, before tapping the home button on his iphone.

“Sure, man. It’s 8:47.”  
“8:47. Delightful, thank you.”

Bucky turned back in his seat, once again becoming hunched over his notebook in such a private way that Steve hoped Clint would soon take notice of.

“Steve Rogers,” said Embry, “This must be a new record. It’s 8:47 AM and I am already done with your Bucky Barnes bullshit.”

Steve couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Love you. See you at home,” Embry kneeled down to slap a wet a kiss on his best friends forehead.

“You guys are a cute couple.” And, at this, Steve Rogers was more sure than he ever had been that he was about to have an asthma attack.

“Oh, no, we’re not, we used to, we live together, sometimes I suck his dick, but sometimes not, but no, we don’t, we’re not— oh god.”

Through the sound of blood rushing to his ears, he heard Indy choke on her chocolate milk.

Bucky laughed, and it was the most beautiful thing Steve had seen since his freshman year trip to the MoMA.

“You have some— a little of his—,” Bucky was gesturing at his own forehead, and Steve cocked his head to the side in obvious confusion. 

“Here, let me just—“ and before he knew it Bucky Barnes’ glorious thumb was rubbing at Steve’s forehead. 

“There we go,” Bucky lifted his thumb — now the purple shade of Embry’s lips — into the air to show Steve, “Got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter updates will now become more frequent!


	3. Thank God you’re pretty, Steve, because you’re a goddamn idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky was always saving him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 points to whoever notices the not-so-subtle vine reference :-)

Steve couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Bucky never gives him _anything._ He’s got to know the swelling, pathetic crush Steve has on him, but he never sends any kind of encouragement back Steve’s way. It’s a one person game of tennis. Steve’s playing fucking wall ball.

Except the lipstick thing. That was _something._

The thing is, Steve Rogers has been through some hard times. His health, his mother’s health, his father in general, his financial status – all of it. He’s had to grow up and look adulthood in the face since just about conception. It’s hard to forget, all the things he’s been through, but when he sees Bucky, it’s like the most amazing breath of air through his damaged lungs. He can feel the space around Bucky humming with electricity. When he sees him, it’s like all of it – all the hard times – were worth it because they led him right here.

He knows how Bucky feels. Bucky feels exactly like Spy Rule Number Three: **EVERYONE IS POTENTIALLY UNDER OPPOSITION CONTROL. NOBODY IS YOUR FRIEND BUT YOURSELF.**

Or something like that.

His friends don’t understand. ‘You don’t know him, Steve’ they say, ‘He literally pretends like he is a spy, please have some standards’ they say.

But the way Steve sees it, you have your whole life to be serious. What’s a little friendly immaturity here and there when you have the rest of your life to have a stick up your ass?

That being said, It’s been awfully quiet at Madison Academy for much too long.

The last documented mischief was two weeks ago, when someone — Steve won’t say who — planted some sort of device that emitted a very, very irritating high pitched noise in Mr. Retherford’s classroom.

The week before the prank, Retherford had sent a group of Spanish speaking students into the hall because they were in America and ‘ought to learn the language or some kind of ignorant, racist bullshit that Steve was almost sick of getting into fights about.

Retherford tried to ignore it for a bit. But when you notice something like that, it’s just about impossible to unnotice it. Whoever it was — really, Steve has no idea — hid the device so well that Retherford’s fourth period class watched as he furiously tore apart the lab until he found the small, circular device resting in plain sight, on top of a pile of textbooks.

It took awhile for Retherford to notice the words written on the chalkboard.

AMERICA IS FOR EVERYONE.

Steve won’t say whether or not he saw Bruce Banner hand Tony Stark $20 in the hallway, just like he won’t say whether or not he heard Tony whisper to Bucky, “Knew he’d lose it by 2:00.”

It’s unsettling, to be honest. The prank was a relatively small one, which means they’re resting up. Something big could be coming. He can’t lie, Steve was a little worried. He’d have to get his inhaler prescription filled before whatever it was came.

Sure, he got a little bigger between the summer of sophomore and junior year, but that doesn’t mean he was magically cured of his ailments. Steve’s not some lab experiment, for God’s sake.

Steve tossed around some ideas in his head while he rode his bike back to his dorm hall, though realistically he knew he would never be able to predict whatever prank was being put together. He imagined a prank on the same baddassery level as Fred and George Weasley’s in _The Order of the Phoenix._

Steve teaches a ceramics class. Today he hosted an eight year olds birthday party, and Oh My God do they know how to make a mess. Thirty second graders in a fairly small room with many, many opportunities to cause trouble... Steve loved his job, but he can’t say he didn’t contemplate quitting when he realized he’d get home by 1:00 in the morning at the latest. He never felt so happy to clock out in his life. Steve felt as if exhaustion was rolling off his body in waves.

Lincoln Hall was quiet at this time. Some rooms still had lights on, illuminating the carpeted floors and Steve’s feet as he walked. If you concentrated, you could hear soft laughter and quiet music coming from the floor above his. Steve loved his school, and he loved living on campus. He loved the feeling of constant busyness, of _people._

Finally arriving at his and Embry’s door, Steve gently set down his beaten up backpack on the floor to quietly dig around for his key. Embry was usually out like a light pretty early. He’s the sleepiest person Steve knows, and Steve really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of waking him up.

Just as his fingers wrapped around his keychain, the door across from his and Embry’s swung wide open. 

“Oh, look who it is! Bucky, c’mere, it’s Simon! We love Simon!” Tony’s words were more sluggish than Steve’s thoughts were, and that’s really something. There should be a spy rule about being drunk on the job. He’ll pass that on to Clint some time.

And then came the roar of barks. Little barks, big barks, feisty barks. 

And next came the exaggerated, dramatic groan from within Steve’s room.

“LOVE BITE! I swear to God, if you don’t shut your whore mouth–”

Steve scrambled to jam his key into the lock, but you know how when you’re panicking you seem to not be able to move fast enough? Everything seems heavy and unmoveable? Steve’s fingers weren’t working. He was panicking and his fingers weren’t working and oh God if someone came up here and found out about Love Bite and Ear Wax and Dumpster Dive he would be expelled and he’s already on a scholarship and his mom can’t afford to—

And then suddenly cold, metal fingers were gently sliding the keys from Steve’s shaking hands. Through his panic, he heard the lock click, and familiar arms were pushing his own door open for him.

Bucky was always saving him.

All of the lights were on in the room. Embry was hunched over, shirtless and in his boxers by the doggy kennels trying to buy the dogs’ silence with cheese slices. The dull, orange light of the room made Embry’s chest glow, and Steve’s eyes were drawn to his tattoos, focusing on them as he kneeled on the floor and proceeded make horrible kissy noises, beckoning the dogs to run to him in a desperate attempt to quiet them down.

Except they stumbled their cute puppy walk right past Steve and towards Bucky, who Steve hadn’t noticed enter the room behind him. Bar Fight hurdled himself right into Bucky’s pajama clad body, and the rest of them soon followed.

And then silence. Sweet, sweet i’m-not-getting-expelled-tonight silence.

 

———

 

Fucking dogs, really? Steve must be a lot stupider than Bucky thought. Not one, but four dogs of all sizes, breeds, and barks. The kid must have a death wish. Actually, he’s seen Steve fight - he definitely has a death wish.

“Thank God you’re pretty, Steve, because you’re a goddamn idiot. Have either one of you ever seen Nick Fury angry? No, you probably haven’t, because if you had you wouldn’t have a pack of dogs in your goddamn room!”

The best part, in Bucky’s humble opinion, was that he gave his little speech in that same voice one would use when talking to a baby. Bucky can be a bitch like that sometimes.

“Wow, read  _Catcher_ much? 'Goddamn this, goddamn that’ you sound like Holden Caulfield.”

It seemed that Bucky was always concentrating on not rolling his eyes around Embry Isaiah.

“You can borrow my copy some time for the low price of a date with my boy Stevie, here. My _annotated_ copy.”

Bucky looked up to Steve, who was staring at Bucky with those goddamn eyes again. His under eye bags were practically touching the floor, and all of a sudden Bucky was starting to feel pretty shitty with himself.

Steve had a thin layer of white dust all over him, and the dry clay stuck around his fingernails didn’t go unnoticed. He’s clearly exhausted, but staring at Bucky like there was nowhere else he’d rather be. 

Bucky felt his heart soften.

“Sorry,” Bucky sighed. “I just don’t want you to get in trouble, Steve.”

He rose from his spot on the floor, and his body groaned it’s usual groan in protest. He hadn’t noticed his best friends sitting on the ground right next to him, all of them engaged in rather cute belly rubs. Steve had a tendency to capture the entirety of Bucky’s attention.

Thor’s roommate was almost always gone, so they used his room as a so called headquarters. He usually spent the night at Thor’s with Clint and Tony on nights like these.

“Yeah, uh, thanks. Sorry if I woke you up.” Bucky knew that Steve knew he didn’t.

“You didn’t.”

For the first time, Bucky looked around the room. Steve and Embry’s room doesn’t look like your average high school dorm room. It doesn’t look like two people are being forced to share living space; it looks like a home. There isn’t an obvious line separating Steve’s side from Embry’s side like most roommates have; it was all one, each side generously and lovingly enveloping the other.

The first thing he really noticed were the lava lamps. There were more than a handful of them scattered around the room. Blue ones, green ones, pink ones, orange ones - they were all over the place. Sure, an odd choice in lighting, but it made the room feel more cozy than it already was. Most likely Confusion’s thing.

There were stacks of beat up books on shelves and on the floor and in piles so high that they were being used as night stands. Bucky spotted multiple copies of _The Catcher in the Rye_ in a pile with _1984_ , _The Iliad,_  and _Peter Pan_. There were drawings all over the walls –  incredible drawings – and Bucky saw a pair of eyes he swore were his own pinned above the closet door (how fitting).

The beds were high in the air – like a top bunk – so that their desks could fit where a bottom bunk usually would. Both Steve and Embry have the same set up, both bunk beds but not really bunk beds facing each other for the illusion of more space. Thor’s room was the same. Madison Academy used to room four to a dorm. They live in Lincoln hall, the oldest on campus. Bucky and Sam live in Roosevelt with Clint and Tony, built only a few short years ago.

On what Bucky assumed was Steve’s desk, there were hundreds of art supplies sorted into hundreds of mason jars. There were blue sticky notes everywhere, one in particular standing out to Bucky: BE OF GOOD HEART. How much more Steve could Steve get?

A cork board hung on the wall above his desk, littered with pictures of Steve – God, he used to be so little – with his friends. One that caught Steve’s eye was probably from Halloween or maybe a school spirit day. In the picture, Embry was wearing all black attire with a brown, shoulder length wig done up in a double Dutch braid almost perfectly. Hilarious.

Embry’s desk has an aquarium on it. A full sized aquarium with a single fish, leaving no room for school work. Unsurprising.

Embry’s wall, under his own bed, had what looked like dozens of discharge papers that Bucky was probably right in assuming were Steve’s. In the center of the papers hung a chalkboard that read FOUR MONTHS SINCE LAST HOSPITALIZATION.

Briefly Bucky wondered if the papers from that freshman year night were there as well.

Where a normal person would keep a chair, Embry had two black medium sized dog kennels stacked under his desk. Two more and a tye dye bean bag were to the left of the desk.

“Simon, why does this dog’s collar say Dumpster Dive? That’s got to be animal abuse.”

“Bro, c’mon, you know better than to joke about animal abuse.”

“Clint, if you don’t like what I have to say then turn your hearing aids off, man. Why do I have to keep telling you?”

“Bro, how am I meant to know when you’re going to say some shit like that? Can you use your brain for one goddamn–”

Steve was sitting criss cross applesauce in his desk chair when he proudly said, “Embry rescues them.”

Embry was sitting on one of the dog kennels when he said, “Make fun of my dog one more time and I’m gonna fucking rip your face off, Bitch,” but he was laughing and then everyone else was too.

Bucky was leaning against Steve’s door - very pointedly not laughing - when he said, “Well it’s stupid as shit.”

“Agreed. This is the second time this week, Em, if Fury saw this–”

“Not sure what would be worse, Fury seeing the dogs or Embry’s bong. Thor, what do you think?”

“Both are offenses punishable by death.”

“Okay, well, Thor’s a bit melodramatic.”

“What are you guys still doing awake, anyway?”

Bucky and Brcue made eye contact. Bruce subtly shook his head, and began to rise, with his best friends following.

Rule Number Six: **STAY WITHIN YOUR COVER.**

“Goodnight, Steve. Don’t do anything stupider than you already have.”

“Yep. Night, Buck.”

Bucky waited for Thor, Tony, Clint, and Bruce to leave the room before exiting himself. As he closed the door he heard Embry say, “Hah. Fuck me then, I guess. Night, Barnes.” And Bucky couldn’t help but laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please leave some feedback! :-)


	4. Sexuality = strictly women + Steve Rogers?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s a difficult thing to realize that you are not at all who you thought you were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wrote an entire chapter about bucky and clint being roommates and then i realized bucky and sam are roommates... i couldn’t find the encouragement to continue for awhile after that minor goof. thanks for holding up!
> 
> i hope you enjoy getting a better picture of the inside of bucky’s head.
> 
> (russian translations at the end of the chapter)

On extremely rare occasions, Bucky Barnes wakes up before Sam Wilson’s alarm clock. Today was one of these occasions. His right shoulder had been bothering him all night, he couldn’t find a comfortable position to sleep in, and he had a lot on his mind. As per usual.

He lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling, trying very hard not to think about Steve Rogers and his charming blue eyes and his big, broad shoulders and his lopsided smile, but alas, Steve was a very hard person to shake.

A week passed since Bucky promptly saved Steve and Embry’s ass. It seemed as though the longing in Steve’s eyes has amplified itself by approximately four hundred times. Bucky could admit to himself that it was getting harder and harder to be painfully indifferent to Steve’s stares.

For more reasons than one, Bucky could not involve himself with Steve. Number one being Rule Number Three: **EVERYONE IS POTENTIALLY UNDER OPPOSITION CONTROL. NOBODY IS YOUR FRIEND BUT YOURSELF.** In reality, Bucky knew that his friends would not lose their minds if he broke this rule, because technically they broke this rule every day of their lives by being friends at all. They had a tendency to bend the rules to shape their life, what can he say? They favored some rules more heavily than others. Bucky knew with certainty that Steve was not under opposition control, if he’s being quite honest with you. Rule Number Three was more of an excuse than a reason.

Reason number two happened to be himself. In his mind, Steve has an image of Bucky that is nowhere near what Bucky is actually like. He couldn’t possibly take a look inside of Bucky’s life and continue to say _oh yeah, I would love to involve myself romantically with that absolute train wreck._ If Steve really got to see him, the real Bucky, the Bucky that beats the shit out of people on weekends for money, the Bucky who cries when he does and doesn’t get a call from his parents, the Bucky that is nowhere near as interesting or fun as Embry Isaiah, the Bucky that is being held up solely by secrets, the Bucky who actively pretends he is a fucking spy at seventeen years old… Bucky doesn’t think he could take another person abandoning him. He doesn’t think he could handle it if Steve was simply not there anymore - not making googly eyes at him and giggling with his friends when Bucky walked by. Yes, Bucky does, in fact, understand how entirely selfish that is— another reason why Steve would run.

Reason three. Bucky has lived his whole life having _his own_ version of himself inside his head. His whole life, he kissed girls and held their soft hands and on multiple occasions has he found his way under a pretty girls skirt. Girls are beautiful. He likes their laughs and their long hair and their delicate frames. Before Steve Rogers, he has never thought to himself _holy fuck I would climb that like a tree_ about a penis wielding person. It is a difficult thing to realize that you are not at all who you thought you were. It takes a lot out of a person to come to terms with the fact that you like the way girls look just as much as you like the way boys look. He quite often finds himself staring at boys now, trying to work out if his sexuality is strictly women + Steve Rogers. He often finds that, no, Sam Wilson is beautiful too, and so is Wade Wilson from the gym and that junior Peter Parker and even Phil Coulson, who graduated last year. Leave it to Steve Rogers to turn his whole life upside down.

Sam’s alarm started beeping. Bucky fixed his face, trying to make it look like he wasn’t just thinking about his roommate's bare chest only seconds ago.

“Anyone ever tell you that that thing you do is weird?” Sam’s voice sounded rough with sleep, words dripping out of his mouth groggily. Bucky rolled on his right side, trying his best not to groan in pain, to face Sam. His eyes were still closed, and he had an amused smile on his face. Bucky peeked his own eyes through the bars of the top bunk and raised his eyebrows in question. “You stare off into space, like, thirty times a day. It’s a weird thing.” Bucky laughed, and it was too loud for the comforting silence of their room and the hallway outside.

Bucky watched Sam as he leaped down from the top bunk to pull on a pair of old running shorts from the pile of dirty clothes in the center of their floor. Bucky and Sam’s room is nowhere near as appealing as Steve and Embry’s, to say the least. Where Sam was organized with school work, he lacked organization skills at home. Bucky opened his mouth to ask Sam if he ever found Dr. Johnson’s homework, but the words fell short as their door slammed open. Clint came bounding into the room, with an exhausted-looking Bruce at his side.

“Good morning, you absolute angel! Get up, would ya? We got things to see and people to do!” Clint all but shouted in his ear. Bucky winced, and he heard Sam laugh as he made his quick escape from their room.

Bucky stared at Clint very hard. “How are you so full of energy? I’m not getting up for another forty-five minutes.”

Clint pointed widely at his ears, “I CAN’T HEAR YOU, I’M DEAF.” Bruce chuckled, spinning in Sam’s desk chair. “He’s lying. I watched him put his hearing aids in this time.”

“You’re a goddamn traitor, Banner,” Clint sighed. “C’mon, we waited until we heard Sam’s alarm clock go off so we wouldn’t wake you. Natasha’s waiting for us.”

And that’s how Bucky found himself sprinting down the hallways of Madison Academy so his dear friend Natasha Romanoff wouldn’t castrate him for being late.

He all but flung himself into the seat next to Tony, with Bruce and Clint flying into their seats right behind him.

The six of them sat there, staring at each other. It took all of Bucky’s strength to not glance behind him to look at Steve. He wanted so badly to see if he was wearing his glasses today, or if he opted for contacts instead. He suspected that Nat saw his internal struggle, and she finally broke the unnatural silence. She touched Bucky’s metal hand that rested on the table, forcing them to make eye contact. “ты опоздал. Мне нравятся твои косы,” she reached out and touched his hair, twirling the braids between her small fingers. “вы преуспеваете с ними.”

“узнал из лучших,” Bucky smiled, and it was genuine.

Natasha smiled back, looking around the table. She cleared her throat, and Bucky imagined her shaking the Russian words out of her mouth. “Anyone wanna tell me why I’m not sitting with my girlfriend right now?”

“Well, Natasha, I’m sure you’ve noticed the eerie silence hovering over our lovely school halls over the last few weeks,” Tony paused, but Natasha said nothing. She looked drastically unimpressed. “And we wanted to ask you a favor.”

—-

Steve’s fingers were moving rapidly over his keyboard.

TO: **NATASHA ROMANOFF (POSSIBLY A SPY?)**

7:18 AM

natasha hunny ,,, what are you doing why are you sitting with bucky i want to come <333333

TO: **NATASHA ROMANOFF (POSSIBLY A SPY?)**

7:18 AM

u sneaky snake! u sly duck!

TO: **NATASHA ROMANOFF (POSSIBLY A SPY?)**

7:18 AM

nat seriously invite me over,,,,, i can’t see from here i left my glasses at home

TO: **NATASHA ROMANOFF (POSSIBLY A SPY?)**

7:19 AM

i can’t believe you’ve done this

TO: **NATASHA ROMANOFF (POSSIBLY A SPY?)**

7:19 AM

are they recruiting you??? tell them i’m good at something so they’ll ask me too and ask him what kind of braid that is and tell him i’ll have his babies :-)

FROM: **NATASHA ROMANOFF (POSSIBLY A SPY?)**

7:19 AM

Steve, thank you for that. I’ll be sure to bring that up. Anything else you’d like me to pass on, Mr. Barnes?

Steve was looking at her, actually watching her hands in her lap when Nat’s text showed up on his screen — she wasn’t even looking down went she typed. She never once broke eye contact with Tony. It was a very intimidating stare and all of a sudden he felt very scared for everyone at the table.

TO: **NATASHA ROMANOFF (POSSIBLY A SPY?)**

7:19 AM

noooOoooo, please don’t actually say that,, was 100000% a joke 

TO: **NATASHA ROMANOFF (POSSIBLY A SPY?)**

7:19 AM

omg don’t make me look bad in front of the man i am going to marry

pls nat i love u so hard sorry for being an attention whore (embry’s words)

TO: **NATASHA ROMANOFF (POSSIBLY A SPY?)**

7:21 AM

>:-( come back i miss u. ur ours & i will fight to the death for u

“Steve, one more text and even I won’t be able to save you from my girlfriend’s wrath.”

As he gave Indy his best go-over-there-and-see-what-they-want-with-her-I-am-actually-begging-you look, his phone was plucked delicately from his hands and shoved into the depths of his best friends backpack.

Steve stared. “Embry, I’m never going to get that back now. Your backpack is a black hole.”

“I’m just trying to save your kneecaps. How many times has Nat threatened to bust out your patellas, Stevie?” Embry talked around a spoonful of scrambled eggs.

Steve rolled his eyes. “What ever would I do without you, Em?”

“Crash and burn, probably.”

Indy’s phone was buzzing softly in her lap, a bright smile lingering on her face. Her brown, curly hair was piled in a bun on the top of her head, with thin strands of hair loosely framing her face. She wore a yellow, long sleeve shirt that complimented her stunning dark skin. Steve swore that every color was Indy’s color and it was absolutely unfair. Her assortment of bracelets shook slightly as she giggled and typed widely on her phone.

“Oh my god, she’s texting you, isn’t she?” Steve scooted his chair closer to Indy. “How is she doing that? Be honest with me, Indy, is your girlfriend a spy?”

“Steve, baby, for the one-hundredth time, Tasha is not a spy,” she said very slowly, making sure every word stuck in Steve’s thick skull. “But then again, that’s what I would _have_ to say if she were one, right?”

Steve needed new friends desperately.

He pushed himself through the rest of day, moving from class to class with heavy eyes. He was bubbling over with curiosity, concocting crazy theories in his head about Natasha and espionage to distract him from the bore of his classes. He created a whole spy background for Nat: she had been trained in a horrifying place called the Red Room, with Bucky as her brainwashed, assassin trainer. He was still working out the details, but he had already started sketching up a rough draft for their comic book.

Nearing the end of the day, Steve was in his final class, pretending to be highly interested in The Great Gatsby and the American Dream and the theme of time. He looked at attentively at Lauren Malek, who was hogging the discussion and therefore all of Steve’s seminar points. He scribbled frantically in his old notebook, circling and drawing arrows around the doodles he had drawn of The Black Widow. He angled the notebook in Nat’s direction and watched her flip through the pages.

She scribbled a note and angled it once again in Steve’s direction.

_[You’re getting too close. Keep digging and I’ll have to kill you]_

**[Nastasha, you are my closest friend. you know that, right?]**

There was the beginning of an amused grin on Nat’s face. She slid the notebook back discreetly.

_[And Embry’s what? Roadkill, I suppose?]_

**[We fuck on the regular— excuse me if he doesn’t count]**

_[Is that what it would take to get you to leave me alone? I’m sure Indy and I can happily arrange something]_  

**[In an ideal world. Sure sucks that we’re all raging gays, huh?]**

_[I don’t know. The gay agenda has worked out plenty for me. You? Not so much. I can see your Bucky-Boner from here.]_

it was very difficult not to look at Bucky and co. while they were only a few seats to the left of him. Steve has always been rather shit at discreteness.

**_[When_ ** **can’t** **_you? We’ve all grown accustomed to it by now, haven’t we? It’s you, me, Embry, Indy, and Bucky-Boner for the long haul]_**  

Steve had trouble containing the laughter bubbling in his chest. He disguised his booming laugh with a cough, and suddenly there were thirty pairs of eyes on him. He felt his cheeks flare up. 

“Mr. Rogers, allergies acting up again, I presume?” Steve soon came to the conclusion that his first mistake was forgetting that Dr. Rumlow did not play around when it came to F. Scott Fitzgerald and/or bullying children.

Steve fake coughed twice more before answering. “Uh. Yeah, a bit. Sorry, Dr. Rumlow.” 

Dr. Rumlow’s been teaching going on thirty-something years now. It should go without saying that Steve should have known better than to pass notes in his class. He walked swiftly around the large circle the desks were arranged in, soon standing directly behind Steve and Natasha. He snatched the notebook off of Natasha’s desk. “Our dear Mr. Rogers says, ‘ _Natasha, you are my closest friend. You know that, right?’_ how incredibly sweet, Steven.”

Steve struggled to force words out of his mouth. “Dr. Rumlow, you really don’t have to continue, I’ll happily take the detentions.”

Natasha’s hand gripped Steve’s arm in rage. “Dr. Rumlow, this is completely unnecessary and highly inappropriate—”

Dr. Rumlow made his voice insultingly high when he read Natasha’s writing. “‘ _And Embry’s what? Roadkill, I suppose?’_ interesting use of language, Mrs. Romanoff. If only you put so much effort into your assigned writing.”

Dr. Rumlow continued to read down the notebook, showing no mercy. After the initial shock of hearing their teacher curse in class, most of Steve’s fellow students burst into laughter around them. Steve burrowed his head deeply into his crossed arms, wishing for sweet death to take him.

Somewhere around ‘sure sucks that we’re raging gays’ and ‘you? not so much’, Dr. Rumlow was interrupted. Steve peaked his eyes through his crossed arms to see Bucky Barnes standing in front of Dr. Rumlow’s shocked face, with Steve’s notebook clutched in his left fist. “Not very professional of you to bully a student, Dr. Rumlow.” And Bucky was angry, angrier than Steve’s seen him. His fist ruined what was left of Steve’s threadbare notebook, and his shoulders were stiff — he looked as if he were ready to go a few rounds with his sixty-year-old teacher.

The bell rang. Bucky was the first to storm out of the class, with Dr. Rumlow shouting after him about Bucky’s parents and detention. Steve and Natasha were the last to go. Steve would shit his pants, probably, if Natasha looked at him the way she looked at Rumlow.

He stared at the floor as he walked down the hallway. Natasha walked at his side cursing in furious Russian, her pale hand rubbing circles in his back in an attempt to ease his embarrassment.

A familiar pair of heavy, black combat boots planted themselves in front of him, directly in the path of both his walking and sight. Steve looked up, blush heavy on his cheeks, and made eye contact with the one pair of eyes that litter his sketchbooks. He was close enough to feel warm breath on his face.

“Bucky-Boner, huh?”

Why must we all laugh at Steve’s expense?

Steve choked on his words, something he was clearly making a habit of. “Yeah, I just, I mean— I know you know that I, like, have these feelings— Um, what I’m trying to say is thank you. Thank you again. For always saving my ass. I’m sorry about—”

Bucky placed his flesh hand gently on Steve’s chest. “It’s okay, Steve,” Bucky laughed, and it was music to Steve’s disabled ears. “I should thank you, actually. Any day I can piss my parents off is a good day in my book. Any attention is good attention, right?”

Bucky’s hand remained splayed on Steve for a moment before it was hesitantly pulling away. Steve wrapped his large hand around Bucky’s wrist, forcing him to turn around, to make eye contact with Steve again. Steve placed Bucky’s hand back where it was on his chest, holding it there this time, his hand on top.

“Buck, um, I was actually wondering if you and I — uh, if we could — I guess what I’m trying to ask is, uh, if we could han—,” Steve’s voice cracked. Bucky cocked his head to the side in confusion, clearly expecting to patiently stand in front of Steve for a few hours while he tried to get a simple sentence out. “Sorry, I mean, you think you could— will you tutor me in history, Bucky?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> google’s translations of nat and bucky’s conversation in russian:
> 
> nat: you’re late. i like your braids.  
> nat: you’re doing well with them.  
> bucky: i learned from the best
> 
> please, be a pal and correct me if google got it completely wrong
> 
> (also, i never addressed that i switched swasi’s name to indy... swasi’s name is now indy, whoops)
> 
> i hope you enjoyed this semi-filler of a chapter!


	5. We look like a sad orgy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony felt incredibly small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE READ CHAPTER WARNINGS:
> 
> \- howard stark is emotionally abusive towards tony. in this chapter he throws a wine glass at a wall in anger (not aimed towards tony) and puts his hands in tony’s hair in a threatening manner  
> \- marijuana

On Wednesday’s Tony’s father arranged for a car to pick him up from school. 

Howard Stark was busy on the remaining weekdays and didn’t bother on the weekends. The tradition was one started by his mother, and they carried on the custom in a failing, desperate attempt to honor Maria.

Because of this, Wednesday is Tony’s least favorite day. 

Because of this, Tony, Thor, Bucky, Bruce, and Clint decided that today was the perfect day to skip their last class to get monumentally high. The five of them crowded on the floor of one of the showers in Thor’s communal bathroom. Nobody would come in while class was going on, and they turned on every shower but the one they were squished in to mask the smoke with steam. Tony noticed the steam was making it hard to see.  _ Good, _ Tony thought,  _ we look like a sad orgy. _

“Bucky, Rogers is definitely a straight A student. He’s playing you like a goddamn fiddle, my friend.”

Clint giggled uncontrollably. “Don’t you mean…  _ gay _ A student.”

Tony banged his head against the wall. “That’s it, Clint. No more talking for the rest of the day. Your privileges have just been revoked.”

It was quiet for a moment, and then Thor began to laugh wildly. “That was delightful, Barton!”

Bucky rolled his eyes, bringing the blunt to his lips. “Yeah, that’s what I told him! And you won’t believe what this fucker said,” he took a slow drag, holding it in his lungs for a moment before releasing. “He says ‘ _ yeah, but I heard you’re incredible at history, and I just wanna see things the way you do’  _ and then he was pulling out a pen from his pocket and writing his number on my arm. Just like that.” Bucky waived his right arm in the air, where the steam was slowly making ink fade.

Tony laughed. “Of all the subjects, he asks you to tutor him in history? No, he didn’t ask the king of linguistics to tutor him in French or Spanish or Latin or any of the other twelve languages you speak. No, he asks about history. Who even struggles in history?” Bucky shrugged his shoulders and passed the blunt to Tony.

Thor cleared his throat. “American history does get quite messy. My home country’s history is much simpler.”

Tony’s leg bumped Bruce’s who bumped Thor’s. “Big Guy, Steve is more American than apple pie and white picket fences and George Washington combined. Also, nobody knows what country you’re from. You don’t tell us.”

They were quiet for a moment, allowing Tony to think about how the rest of his day might go. He listened intently to the indie bullshit flowing softly from Bucky’s speaker. He thought about going home and felt very miserable about it all of a sudden. He thought about the big house with the lonely hallways and the men and women who worked there, always looking at him with sad eyes. He realized a moment later that the blunt was burning in his hand, untouched since Bucky’s lips. He put it between his own. His hand brushed Bruce’s, and he felt drawn back to earth. It became very urgent, suddenly, that Tony feel Bruce’s slender fingers between his. He laced them together and pictured his worries float into the air like the smoke he exhaled.

Bruce’s thumb danced on Tony’s scarred hands, rubbing gentle circles into the skin, grounding him, not letting his thoughts steal him away. Distantly, Tony registered Thor’s thunderous laugh, and heard the others frantically hush him. 

Clint bopped everyones knee, and his hands gyrated in the air, speaking ASL. He didn’t like the feeling of not knowing what his voice sounded like without his hearing aids, and he had taken them off when the bathroom began to get too steamy. Tony felt mesmerized by Clint’s hands. He tried to focus on what he was saying, but he knew Bruce would whisper in his ear if he got too obviously lost. It was pointless to whisper, they were all in such close proximity that whispering equated to yelling, though Bruce’s lips brushed against his ear quietly as he spoke, “He wants to know what the hell we’re gonna do about the prank. He says he’s got writer’s block except for with, like, pranks. Bro.”

Everyone sighed. They were planning something big, but the details were becoming too much to work out. They were about to miss the first wave of deadlines they planned to keep on top of things. There was too much going on. He needed to visualize it. He needed to see the plan in front of him. He needed blueprints and maps and data, or the gears in his head refused to turn. Bucky talked to Clint, Bruce and Thor watching the conversation unfold in front of them. Tony’s head touched Thor’s large shoulders, and he decided that that would be a very nice place to lay, wouldn’t it?

He closed his eyes for a second— just a second. 

He woke up and they were a tangle of limbs. Five teenage boys, all embracing each other, tangled in a space intended for someone four feet tall and a hundred pounds. His head had flopped from Thor’s shoulder to Bucky’s in his sleep, and as he rose he felt his cheeks, where he was sure there was lines imitating those of the ridges on Bucky’s metal arm.

He tried to remember why he had woken up. His eyes drooped closed once more. And then his phone rang and _ oh yeah that’s what that noise was.  _ He reached around Clint’s curled up body to grab his phone, and his heart beat just a little faster when he saw it was his father calling. He stood, waking the bodies of those around him. The pile of limbs reminded him of quicksand as he struggled to escape it, only finding himself being pulled down further.

“Hey, Dad.”

They bodies let him loose.

_ “That’s all you got for me? ‘Hey, Dad?’ Anthony Stark, what do I pay your phone for if you don’t answer your fucking phone? Why aren’t you answering Happy’s calls? He’s been waiting at your school nearing two hours. Do you think I have time for this? Do you think this is what I want? I could be doing better things with my time, Anthony. I called your school, you missed your last block again? You’re a fool if you think your mother would be proud of who you’ve become—” _

Bruce hands fumbled around Tony’s, pulling the phone away from his ringing ears. His brain was working too slow. What had he said? Happy waiting? He hung up and then threw himself back into the pile of teenage boys. He lifted legs, lifted arms, rolled his friends over — “Tony, what are you looking for?”

“My phone, I’m looking for my phone—”

“Tony, you just put it in your pocket.”

Tony patted his front pockets, and sure enough, his phone was there. He nodded, stood up again, and headed for the bathroom doors. He tried three times to push the door open, then unlocked it and tried again. He ran into someone big and hard as he fled the bathroom, and he knew who it was when he smelt the familiar laundry detergent. 

“Oh, hey, Tony. I’ve been knocking on the bathroom doors for ten minutes— are you okay?”

Tony pushed around Steve Rogers and bounded down the stairs, heading toward the front of the school.

Happy forgave Tony as soon as he opened the passenger door, just as Tony knew he would. Who would complain about a paid two-hour break?

The car ride into the heart of Manhattan felt like it lasted forever. He thanked Happy and leaped out of the car while it was still pulling into the garage.

His father was sitting on the couch when Tony padded softly into the living room. He sat down a few cushions to the left of him, and they played the game where Howard stays silent until Tony withers uncomfortably in his seat. 

“Where have you been?” His father’s voice cut crisply into the air.

Tony felt incredibly small. “Lost track of time in the library.”

“They let you do drugs in the library now, Anthony?”

This would be awfully funny if it were any other parent. If it were Maria, even. “Would you believe me if I said yes?”

Tony’s father picked up the first thing he found on the coffee table in front of him— a glass of wine— and threw it at the wall in front of them. Tony didn’t flinch, but he watched in slow motion as the glass broke into a million pieces, as the red liquid stained the wall and the thick, white carpet beneath it.

His dad stood. He walked slowly— he thought it made him seem more powerful, like the world was waiting on him— and bent in front of Tony. His ring clad fingers twisted themselves violently in Tony’s black hair. He pulled his sons neck back, exposing his bare throat. Tony felt like an animal waiting obediently to be slaughtered, and he wanted to throw up, he wanted to dirty the white carpet further. Howard’s fingers tightened in his hair, and the alcohol on his breath burned Tony’s eyes as he spoke threateningly in his ear.

“This will not happen again.”

Tony closed his eyes, and when he reopened them he was alone.

He waited until he heard feet stomping up the stairs. He walked by Happy, who was watching silently from the kitchen. Happy grabbed his bicep gently, but Tony shook it away.

The scene had happened quickly; he left the house not five minutes after he arrived. He walked calmly to the subway, and did not cry as the train rocked beneath him. 

FROM:  **brucey boo i love uuuuu**

6:34 PM

i’m so sorry, tone. should have stayed awake. please call me when you can. need to hear that u’re okay. love u

FROM:  **“god” of “thunder””**

6:59 PM

we are here for you, my friend. there’s nothing a little weed and an orgasm between fellow warriors can’t fix

FROM: **“god” of “thunder””**

7:04 PM

please disregard last message. bruce has just informed me that this is not a joking matter. we love you. the skies rumble in your absence xoxoxo

FROM: **borky**

7:11 PM

bruce won’t talk. who’s ass do i need to kick?

love you. stay safe and call if you need ANYthunG

FROM: **that deaf bitch**

7:14 PM

tony, my bed is always asking about uuu,, waiting for u to come sleep in it and grace us w/ your presence. srsly, always a place to stay when u need it. i’ll even make u coffee in the morn. love u more than anything. text back when things are better pls

FROM:  **brucey boo i love uuuuu**

7:46 PM

sorry for blowing up your phone. just worried. was going to tell u not to do anything i would do, but actually pls do that. don’t do anything you normally would… be safe, tone

He felt at home as he climbed the stairs from the subway and into Brooklyn, even feeling the beginning of a light smile surfacing as people waved at him, shouting that its been too long since he last visited. The walk cleared his mind, already thinking about what he would tell his friends when he had a quiet chance.

He felt around in his pocket for the key he always kept in his pocket, and breathed in deeply when he knocked lightly before pushing open the heavy doors. He was immediately overcome with relief as the smell of homemade cooking flooded his nostrils.

Sarah Rogers tried not to smile too sadly when Tony rounded the corner into her small kitchen. She hugged him fiercely, keeping him together for just a little while longer. He was soon warm again, sitting at the creaky table with a plateful of Sarah’s delicious cooking. She was still in her scrubs, and she looked overwhelmed with exhaustion, but she insisted Tony tell her about his father and school and Steve and Steve and Bucky and Steve and Embry. She threw her head back in laugher when Tony told her how her son was getting men these days— through unnecessary tutoring lessons.

He kissed Sarah’s forehead goodnight after cleaning the kitchen and thanking her profusely. He forced himself to change into a pair of pajamas he kept in Steve’s old dresser, putting the clothes he was wearing in the wash. 

TO:  **this is NOT a group chat for a super secret spy group**

i’m okay. safe and in bed. try not to lose your heads next time, u dramatic bitches :-)

thank you for loving me, and thank u for caring. i love you all too.

sleep well, we have a pr*nk to organize xoxoxoxox

He blew a kiss to the sky for the Rogers family. He silently thanked Steve for unknowingly sharing his childhood bed with a man who called him by the wrong name. He apologized to the sky— to Steve — for never answering his text, but reaping its benefits regardless.

Tony Stark was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day? i’m just as surprised as you are. i had been waiting to write in tony’s perspective— i couldn’t stop once i started!
> 
> i truly hope you enjoyed a peak into tony’s life. feedback always encouraged!

**Author's Note:**

> \- welcome to the real life Moscow Rules (with some elaboration)  
> \- my tumblr is [bumblebuck](http://bumblebuck.tumblr.com/)  
> \- this is my first ever fic (cool, right?)


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